


For scientific purposes. Obviously.

by shamelessmash



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Bickering, Breasts, Chair Porn, Cunnilingus, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Things, F/F, Fem!John - Freeform, Fem!Sherlock, Femlock, First Time, Fluff, Genderbending, Multiple Orgasms, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rule 63, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Vaginal Fingering, accidental hair dye, accidental nakedness, because breasts are awesome, dialogue prompt, ficwritersretreat2016, for science, i say plot lightly, just go with it, pubic hair obsession, who cares its porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shamelessmash/pseuds/shamelessmash
Summary: “Are you fucking kidding me?”Sherlock didn’t look up from her microscope. “You’ll need to be more specific.”“What did you do to the shampoo?”“Oh.” Sherlock answered, almost disappointed.She finally looked up and saw John’s hair was now a bright red hue.“Oh!”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aquabelacqua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquabelacqua/gifts).



> This fic started as dialogue exercise at last summer's "Fic Writers' Retreat". The prompt was submitted by johnlockequalslove : "Arguing over domestic things".
> 
> My initial response was, and I quote from the original word document (absence of ponctuation and all): "Shit that is way to vague for me"
> 
> We had twenty minutes to write, armed with the guidelines we had discussed during the panel, and I was hosting it, so uh, added pressure, then everyone read what they had written to the group.  
> It was a great experience that I cannot wait to try again next year, because it's awesome to instantly hear 8 different takes on the same prompt. What I wasn't expecting and made the experience even more interesting was to hear the other writer's ideas on where the individual stories could go from what we each had.
> 
> I am pleased to present finished prompt after 6 months of work, the notes I got from the group, a gender change (for reasons) and a proper research on madder. 
> 
> It's porn, the result is porn.
> 
> Seriously though, I had a lot of fun working on this, and it helped me through my rough patch while writing Endless Wonder. That thing is such a slow burn I had to get some of the tension out. 
> 
> Special thanks to [johnlockequalslove ](http://johnlockequalslove.tumblr.com/) for the prompt, I can't explain why I went for hair dye, but who cares its porn. And a VERY special thanks to [hubblegleeflower](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hubblegleeflower) (go read her stuff) for organising the wonderful retreat and accepting to read and beta this fic even with her busy schedule.
> 
> I am offering this fic as my get well better soon gift to the wonderful [aquabelaqua ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aquabelacqua) (go read her stuff)

 John stormed out of the bathroom with a towel badly wrapped around herself, wet hair dripping onto her shoulders and the floor as she stomped into the kitchen.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Sherlock didn’t look up from her microscope. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“What did you do to the shampoo?”

“Oh.” Sherlock answered, almost disappointed.

She finally looked up and saw John’s hair was now a bright red hue.

“Oh!”

“What, it didn’t turn out like you wanted?” John asked sarcastically.

“I didn’t think it would be so bright.” Sherlock squinted. “Maybe because of your natural hair colour?”

John stared at her a moment. “Are you saying you were _actually_ trying to dye my hair without telling me?”

“No, of course not. But it was a possible side effect.”

John blinked. “And _why_ was it a possible side effect?”

“Because I put madder in the shampoo.”

“ _Why_ did you put madder in- no, you know what? I don’t want to know, not this time, just…” She took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sherlock pursed her lips. “Slipped my mind.”

“We’ve spoken about this-“

“Well, you shouted and I listened-”

“ _Clearly_ you weren’t listening-”

“Well, shouting isn’t really the best communication-“

“I swear to god, if _you_ start lecturing me about my communication skills…” John sneered, the corner of her mouth curled, daring Sherlock to say another word.

Sherlock shut her mouth and felt some type of remorse as she hunched over her work.

“Let me guess; forgot to tell me?”

“…Maybe.” The word was barely audible, a lost thought as Sherlock examined whatever was on the slide.

John looked like she was about to start shouting but instead closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

“Would it kill you to _try_ to remember?”

Sherlock switched out the slide.

“Or put a warning label? An email? A text? Something!”

Sherlock adjusted the focus and when it was clear she was not going to respond, John snapped. She stretched across the table and pulled away the microscope, effectively taking Sherlock by surprise. She tried to grab it but John had it out of her reach instantly.

“You listening now?”

“Really, John? You’re taking away my toys to make me listen?”

“If you stopped behaving like a child I wouldn’t have to treat you like one.”

“Calm down, it’s just hair.”

“A month ago, you were firing my gun at the wall. Then it was the fermentation farm in the cupboard that gave me food poisoning, not to mention that chemical burn I’m still nursing. And now I have red hair. At this rate, I might not survive another year of living with you.”

“And this,” Sherlock pointed at the microscope held hostage. “is your solution?”

“If this is the only way to get it into that thick skull of yours that hazard warnings are important, then yes.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes as she stood and made her way around the table. “Hazard warning? John, please, madder isn’t hazardous.”

Since John’s hands were occupied by the microscope and holding her towel in place, Sherlock assumed the tug war would be brief. So, it came as a surprise when John let go of her towel to block and twist Sherlock’s arm and direct her against the wall. John held her in place with a firm grip, twisting her wrist enough to bring her to the brink of pain.

“I don’t think you’re getting my point.” John whispered over Sherlock’s shoulder, her breath lightly brushing the shell of her ear.

Their only point of contact was John’s hand around her wrist, but she was close enough that Sherlock could feel the warmth of John’s body behind her. Knowing she was naked was making it somehow-

“Hazard warnings, got it.”

“Good. Now, how are you going to fix my hair?”

Sherlock may have accidentally created a permanent hair dye but chose not to mention it. She didn’t want to make John angrier than she already was.

“I’m still testing the potency, it will probably go away on its own after a couple of washes.”

John’s grip tightened as she pressed her naked breast against Sherlock’s clothed back and growled into her ear. “I meant _now_.”

The contact of John’s lips and her threatening voice in her ear made Sherlock a bit light-headed. She could feel a blush spreading up her neck and colouring her cheeks and it had nothing to do with the pain shooting up her arm. She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against the wall and focused on that.

“You could dye it blonde again, although the red hue might affect the colouring.”

“How?”

“You know, like red highlights.”

Suddenly, Sherlock’s arm was released. She rubbed her wrist as she turned to an angry and very naked John putting the microscope back on the table. She didn’t mean to, but something red caught her attention in the corner of her eye and made her look down.

“John, your pubic hair.”

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock, don’t-” John tried to cover herself with her hands.

Sherlock felt her cheeks burning but could not stop staring. “It’s red, why is it red?”

John peeked down and saw her pubic hair had in fact turned a red, though admittedly not as bright as her hair. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“Did you shampoo your-?”

“No! Nope.” John crouched down, grabbed her towel and quickly wrapped it around herself. “You stop talking right now. You will not say a single thing about-”

“But John, you really shouldn’t-”

“Shut. Up. We will never speak of this again.” John stomped towards the bathroom

“Your hair or-?”

“Shut up!” John slammed the door before the shower was heard once more.

After seven minutes, Sherlock got bored of her experiment and moved to the couch, wondering for the remaining fourteen minutes of John’s shower why it was taking so long. There were only so many times you could shampoo your hair until it was clear the colour was not going away. Maybe she was crying, it did seem like the only place she did it, thinking Sherlock couldn’t hear her over the water. It was true. Most of the time.

Judging by the way the bathroom door opened and slammed shut again, followed by pounding steps through the corridor and up the stairs, Sherlock didn’t need to open her eyes to know John’s hair was still red.

So madder was, in fact, very potent.

Seven minutes later and much thumping around, John marched down from her room with an old Uni jumper with the hood pulled over her head. She grabbed her coat and handbag and headed out.

Sherlock waited until she heard the front door close before she jumped up off the couch and raced to the window to watch John walk away, shoulders hunched, head low.

Yet all Sherlock could think about was: had she only scrubbed her head?

* * *

 

Sherlock was disturbed from her mind palace by the flat door slamming shut.

John pulled off her coat but kept the hood of her jumper on her head. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s your fault.”

“Can’t you go to a beauty salon for this?”

John paused briefly as if only now realising that was an option. “Too late now.” She shoved the hair dye into Sherlock’s chest. “Now get up.”

Sherlock sneered but stood and examined the box. “Summer breeze; these companies have the worst names.”

It was close to John’s natural colour, but it would lack the nuances. Sherlock estimated how long it will take to grow back and pouted. The prospect of losing such an interesting aspect of John’s physique was unfortunate, but it did offer ideal conditions to measure her hair’s growth rate.

John finished drying her hair as Sherlock read the instructions.

“Small problem though.” Sherlock said when John came out of the bathroom. “Your hair needs to be dirty.”

“What?”

“I thought you knew?”

“How? I’ve never died my hair before.”

“Me either, but it make sense. The chemicals don’t work as well on clean hair, the products in the conditioner that prevents pollution damage will also stop the pigment from attaching itself properly to the hair.”

John stared at the ceiling. “Shit.”

“We can do it tomorrow evening, or the following morning even, two nights would be ideal, especially after multiple washings.”

“How am I supposed to go to work like this?!”

“How does the colour of your hair impact your mode of transp-… right, um, never mind.” Sherlock mumbled and hid behind the instructions.

John rubbed her face. “Do it anyway.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up. “But the-”

“I don’t care.” She took off her jumper, messing up her fluffy red hair in the process. And sat down onto one of the kitchen chairs, arms and legs crossed, dressed only in Jeans and a black tank top. “You’re paying me back for the hair dye this time and every time after this.”

Her hair fell around her face and fanned softly against her bare shoulders and back. The bright red strands crisscrossed against the faded tan of her skin made her seem younger, playful even, despite her current scowl. It was an intriguing contrast that was very John Watson-ish, even though it was far from her usual conservative look.

Sherlock didn’t realise she was staring until John let her head fall back and look at her.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Mind getting on with it now?”

The red halo around her face gave her snarky temper a sexy edge. Sherlock occupied herself with covering her shoulders with a towel, gently brushing aside her hair.

“Oh, and Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t you fucking dare take a sample.”

“But-“

“I said: no. samples.”

Sherlock couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Is this your way of punishing me?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Good. Now dye my bloody hair.”

Sherlock stood there, jaw hanging as she watched John smirk and flip her hair. Not because she was shocked by John’s punishment, well, ok, there was a little of that, but by her own physical reaction to… was it the hair? Was a colour change that impactful on Sherlock’s perception of her friend?

John cleared her throat, triggering Sherlock out of her train of thought and to work. Since she couldn’t keep a sample, she brushed John’s hair with her fingers to catalogue the texture change until John told her to move it along. She applied the colour with unbarring meticulousness and then spent a bit more than strictly required massaging the colour in, which seemed to help John calm down. John took another shower to rinse out the dye and then took an ungodly amount of time drying her hair.

When she came out, Sherlock cornered her under the stove lamp to get a look at the result. She held John in place with her body while her fingers combed her hair and singled out individual strands to look at under the artificial light.

“I swear to God, if you cut my hair-”

“Don’t be stupid John, I’ve already cleaned the hair brushes to get a proper sample in the next few days.”

John mumbled, “Why did I ask?” and shrugged Sherlock off. “It’s fine, ok? Just stop, the red is gone.” She brushed her hand through her hair and looked worried. “For now, I guess.”

Sherlock stared at John and her new hair. She was stunning, obviously. She always was naturally beautiful, but the effect of the shiny even colour from root to tip gave her a more polished look. Sort of like the, what did John call them again? Bond girls? Sherlock still preferred the natural version, but given the circumstances, even she was surprised by the result.

She was also curious how the colour would look like in natural light and how long it would take for the red hue to start showing again.

“Oh.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.

“What?” John asked and patted her hair with both hands.

Her mind reeled with theories. Sherlock spoke as if mumbling to herself, but John was so close she could hear.

“It’s not the same type, but it’s the chemical reaction I’m interested in, so it could still work.”

“What are you going on about now?”

Sherlock look down at John and blinked, as if only now catching up with the here and now. “Your pubic hair.”

John opened her mouth a few times before something came out. “I said never to speak of it again.” And walked away, up to her room, and did not leave for the rest of the night.

So, Sherlock did not speak of it again and tried to forget about it.

* * *

 And after a few days, Sherlock realised that she could not, in fact, forget about it.

* * *

 John’s attitude had changed when she came back from work the following day. Clearly, she had been complimented on her hair several times, Sherlock could tell by how she had strutted into the flat and took off her coat, flipping her hair as she greeted Sherlock. She seemed to be flipping her hair a lot now. And more smiling. Apparently, John liked the extra attention she was getting at work.

Personally, Sherlock did not care for her good mood; it was John’s increased confidence that was intriguing to Sherlock and she spent the evening catching herself watching John. She would be on her computer or reading the paper and suddenly she was staring at John. Good thing they weren’t in the middle of a case or this would all be very counter productive.

It didn’t seem to bother John at all. In fact, she seemed to be smiling to herself all evening.

* * *

 On the second day after the incident, John came home with a phone number. Sherlock spotted the folded piece of paper on the desk that evening as John sorted through their take-out menus.

“Thai or Indian?”

Sherlock didn’t even register her hand crumbling up the paper and dropping it in the trash.

“Thai.”

* * *

 On the third day Sherlock realised she was reacting to John’s new odour.

Her hair had a chemical fragrance now, which meant John was hiding something. That fact alone shouldn’t matter, since hair dye’s primary use is to cover up gray hairs. But it’s still a solution that hides what can not be covered. And _that_ was what Sherlock was fixated on; what John refused to discuss or sample, hidden beneath her polycotton slacks. The closer John was, the stronger the chemical smell, the more Sherlock was reminded of her red crotch.

And it was driving her insane.

John had just come back from work, Sherlock was at the desk, answering an email. John’s head suddenly appeared next to hers, curious. She stayed only a few seconds, but the odour was plastered in Sherlock’s nose.

That’s when she realised what she had forgotten.

She had forgotten to smell John’s hair before dying it.

Sherlock’s eyes dropped to John’s hips once more.

It wasn’t the same type of hair but… Did it smell different? Did it change the texture as much as the hair on her head? Was it affected by the madder? Probably. Sherlock had never touched shampooed pubic hair, so she took a mental note to try it on her next shower.

But either way, John would never accept Sherlock smelling her. The only data she could get without outright asking, since she was certain this was something John would tell her was ‘a bit not good’ and that friends didn’t ask each other such things no matter how close you are with them, was how long the colour would last.

So, accidentally seeing John naked would be acceptable, right?

For scientific purposes. Obviously.

* * *

 After three days and eight failed attempts, Sherlock admitted to herself it was easier said than done. Unless she was barging into John’s room while she was getting dressed or during her shower, there weren’t many occasions to accidentally see John completely naked. So, on day six, when a new piece of paper with a new phone number appeared on the desk, Sherlock decided to create circumstances.

By which she meant shouting John’s name repeatedly to get her to step out of the shower with just a towel and make her lose it.

However, she did not plan for Mrs. Hudson to run upstairs to see what all the fuss was about.The plan was doomed to fail when John came out in her bathrobe. Sherlock cursed herself for not hiding it beforehand. She was losing her touch.

“What’s the matter with you?” John asked, after Mrs. Hudson had left, shaking her head and mumbling to herself.

“Nothing.”

“I may not be as clever as you, but I’m not stupid you know.”

“How could you even think such a thing?” Sherlock responded a bit dramatically.

John smirked. “You’ve been acting odd. Either you put something else in the shampoo and secretly monitoring me…”

Sherlock tsked and rolled her eyes.

“…Or you’re working up the courage to ask me something you know I’m not going to like.”

Sherlock cleared her throat and fiddled with her phone. She needed a moment to push aside the blooming fondness at the notion that John knew her well enough to notice a change in her behaviour.

“So, which is it?” John insisted.

“...ask you something.”

“Why do I have a feeling I know where this is going?” John grumbled as she crossed her arms.

Sherlock hesitated when she saw how uncomfortable this was making John but then again, she was the one insisting. So Sherlock just went for it.

“Can I examine your pubic hair?”

John looked confused, a deep blush spread across her cheeks and neck. “I… I thought you were going to ask for a sample.”

Sherlock paused, surprised. John hadn’t said no. Not yet anyway.

“Well, you said I couldn’t. But if I can have one after the exam that would be brilliant.”

She bit her lip and waited, hoping she hadn’t pushed it too far. John’s frown was still there, but she still hadn’t said no.

“Why examine?”

It was Sherlock’s turn to frown. John was asking for clarification. She wouldn’t unless she was considering it, right?

“Forensics, John, more data in the original environment.”

The corner of John’s mouth lifted at that, Sherlock wasn’t sure why, since she wasn’t trying to be funny. Something flashed in John’s eyes. Was that...? Was John really considering it, actually considering it? Sherlock straightened and tried to hide how eager she was, but if John’s smirk was anything to go by, she was failing miserably.

John worried her lip and eyed the flat door before she spoke. “You understand this is far beyond the friend boundary?”

 “I do.”

“And do you understand what it implies?”

Sherlock took a shot in the dark. “That we’re close?”

John chuckled and her eyes grew soft. “You aren’t wrong, but that’s not what I meant.”

“Is this another social convention?”

John bit her lip. “Sort of, yeah.”

Something passed in her eyes again. Sherlock blinked rapidly, a bit of a loss as to what John could be referring to. She was being offered the chance to satisfy her curiosity and indulge her scientific brain and was worried she was to lose it because of her social ineptitudes.

“It’s hair, John, just hair. You’re making a big deal out of it is because the fashion industry has reduced us to thinking we need to look like hairless pre-pubescent girls be desirable. I simply want to examine the hair’s chemical reaction to madder, that’s all, there’s nothing for you to worry about or be ashamed of.” Sherlock was expecting her mouth to stop but it didn’t. “The other day I was only trying to tell you to be careful not to use the shampoo close to your vaginal opening because it could cause a yeast infection or a urinary tract infection. And judging by the face you’re making you already knew that since you’re a medical doctor.” Sherlock was all out babbling and she couldn’t stop and was mortified about it. “You are perfectly aware of my scientific background, experience and methods, so you know that I am not trying to objectify or body shame you in any way. Now will you please sit in your chair so I can examine you?”

John remained motionless, save for the intermittent blinking.

It suddenly struck Sherlock she had been going along assuming John had accepted her request and she panicked.

“Or, maybe you prefer the couch? It will only take a few minutes. I just need to wash my hands first, you just sit wherever you feel more comfortable.”

There was still no movement from John, and it was making the whole ordeal even more tense. Sherlock cleared her throat and backed into the kitchen to wash up and gather herself. When she returned, John was sitting in her chair, arms crossed over her now untied bathrobe. Her bare legs were uncrossed, but still held together tightly.

Sherlock couldn’t believe it. John was going along with this.

She dropped a pillow on the floor in front of her.

“Did you want me to wear gloves?” Sherlock asked, holding up a pair.

John’s licked her lips and shook her head.

Sherlock stuffed them in her robe pocket and knelt.

She took out her flashlight. “I’m going to use this for the hue. Nothing invasive.”

John nodded, but she still looked… terrified. Sherlock didn’t like that look on John, especially if she was the one causing it.

“John, we don’t have to… you could just give me a sample and-”

Her voice cut off when she felt John’s knee bump her arm gently.

“It’s ok, it’s just… I’m a little shy, alright? But it’s fine, go ahead.” John said clearly but a bit breathless as she inched forward on her chair.

Sherlock put the flashlight aside and brought her hands close to John’s legs. Her entire body was stiff and screamed discomfort. John nodded her approval, but it didn’t stop her fingers from digging into the armrests unconsciously when she felt Sherlock’s hand on her knee. She seemed surprised when both her legs were pushed aside.

“Stop me at any time,” Sherlock offered once she was settled between the armrest and John’s legs.

John seemed a bit flushed, but she nodded.

Gently, Sherlock moved her hands towards John’s robe. She folded it open neatly, like any other sheet covered experiment, enough to reveal the dark red hair.

Sherlock bit back a sharp intake of breath. Intrigued, she hunched over John’s thigh, her bony hip digging into the armrest as she gently brushed her fingers through the coarse hair. She hummed, fascinated by how vivid the color was on the dark hair and quickly reached for her flashlight for a closer examination. It was then she noticed the colour was only on the upper region, confirming John had been careful not to affect her vagina’s natural bacteria.

But it unintentionally made Sherlock want to examine further down.

For scientific reasons. John was a unique and captivating specimen; it would have been surprising if Sherlock hadn’t wanted to know everything there was about her. Obviously.

That’s when Sherlock realised how lucky she was to have such a dear friend that would let her do something this inappropriate, that made her this uncomfortable. There were limits, though, Sherlock didn’t want to push her luck, but there was little chance this would ever happen again. She had to try. A quick look at John confirmed she had relaxed, her fingers no longer digging into the armrest.

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

One hand over John’s stomach and the other still brushing lightly over the red hair, Sherlock dared.

“Can I smell?”

John tilted her head, eyes searching Sherlock’s face, sort of like she did at crime scenes when she had no idea what she was looking for.

“Okay.”

Sherlock’s frowned. “Okay?”

John raised an eyebrow. “What, did you want me to sign a legal document while you’re at it?”

“What? No. Unless that’s what you want. I’m sure I can have a proper version typed up in-”

“Oh, my God, I was kidding Sherlock,” She cut her off, giggling, by covering Sherlock’s mouth with her hand. “yes, you can smell, okay?” She removed her hand and laid back down, still shaking her head and smiling.

“Okay.” Sherlock looked down and hoped that warm sensation wasn’t a blush creeping up her neck.

Okay, she repeated to herself in an attempt to focus on something other than the tingling imprint of John’s hand on her face. She closed her eyes and took two deep breaths to center herself and focus on her olfactive senses before she leaned down, pushed her nose through the hairs, bumped the tip against John’s warm skin and inhaled deeply.

Sherlock smelled a mixture of soap, water, and shampoo, but mainly the madder root. She wondered how much stronger it would have been if she had smelled it that night. She exhaled and heard John do the same. She rubbed her nose against skin and hair a bit before inhaling again, letting the aroma wash over her. But this time, there was something else, something… out of place.

Sherlock exhaled through her mouth this time, slowly, as she sorted through her mental catalogue of smells, attempting to figure out what it could be. On her third inhale, John shifted beneath her. What seemed out of place suddenly overpowered everything else.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open when she realised what it was.  

The reason John was uncomfortable suddenly became clear. Sherlock now knew what John had meant by ‘far beyond the friend boundary’ and ‘what it implies’. It also became very clear to Sherlock that she was an idiot, and that the past few days had absolutely nothing to do with the madder incident.

As she exhaled, Sherlock looked up at John.

Her eyes were half closed, her pupils’ large black holes in the middle of a vast array of blues. Her cheeks and neck were flushed red, her mouth parted. Her robe had slipped open, revealing a few inches of skin between her breasts. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as her eyes locked with Sherlock’s. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Sherlock wanted to stare at John as long as it would take to carve every single detail into her memory. And yet she knew it wouldn’t be enough. How could it ever be enough when it was about John?

There was a lump in Sherlock’s throat. This was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done, or was about to do, and it had the potential to ruin things between the two of them, yet she could not turn away, could never turn away, not anymore, not after seeing John like this. Unless John told her to stop, which, at this moment, did not seem to be the case.

“John?”

Sherlock cursed the tremble in her voice. John blinked slowly, and seemed like she wanted to respond, but only a small breathy sound came out. It managed to twist Sherlock’s insides even more, which made the next words even more difficult to speak.

“Can I spread your legs?”

John blinked a bit faster this time.

Patience had never been one of Sherlock’s virtues, and apparently in this type of situation the effects were exponential. As privileged as Sherlock felt to have seen John in such a state, it didn’t stop her from having a fight or flight response. She was about to start rambling on with excuses about how they could always act like it had never happened, or joke about it, saying it was that one time, that it was something flatmates did sometimes, when John spoke.

“Yes.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath and shut her mouth, eyes wide. She was grateful John had said something before she did or she would already be up and leaving for Bart’s out of sheer humiliation. But she still couldn’t believe John had said yes. She watched her, searched her, deduced her, trying to understand how she could possibly be going along with all of this. That’s when Sherlock felt John’s knee nudging her. It was small, but it was still there. It didn’t provide much of an answer, but it was still John’s way of telling Sherlock it was okay.

She kept her eyes on John’s face as she slid her hands along her thighs, covered her knees with her palms and slowly spread them apart.

John’s robe shifted in the process, revealing more of her belly and almost an entire breast. Sherlock felt her mouth water at the sight, as it always did when she accidently got an eyeful from her flatmate. As she lowered her gaze, Sherlock sucked in her lower lip without thinking about it. There was a clear line where the red hair stopped about a half inch above her clitoris and as curious as she was to smell the difference, she already knew it was useless now. She slid her right hand along the inside of John’s thigh, feeling the tiny muscle spasms along the way. Slowly, she brushed the tip of her fingers through the dark brown hair along her labia majora then up to the red for a direct texture comparison. She repeated it a few times and before she knew it she was leaning down, her nose brushing through the dark brown hairs, the tip bumping into skin that was warmer than before, and inhaled once more.

Her nostrils were filled with _John_. Strong, intoxicating, delicious _John_. It was overflowing her senses, Sherlock had to mentally slap herself to pull back a bit so she wouldn’t start moaning and rubbing her face between John’s legs. If she went any further she wouldn’t be able to stop. She paused and looked up, doubting once more. She had to know for sure. She couldn’t bear to lose John, not now, not after this, how could she after knowing _this_.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was soft and a bit breathless, but the concern was clear. “You okay?”

Sherlock stared. This woman, who _hated_ feeling vulnerable, who was half naked, her hair ruffled and legs spread wide in the middle of their sitting room, was more concerned about Sherlock than herself. It was there, kneeling, her sensed filled with everything _John_ , that Sherlock finally understood she was in love with her.

Of course, she was okay. She was better than okay. There were no words for how okay Sherlock was right now. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, which was a very foreign sensation, but she was okay. They just needed a long, or quite possibly short, conversation on their relationship status. But this was not the moment for said discussion.

Sherlock smiled fondly. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” John’s frown disappeared, but the intensity did not leave her eyes.

Oh.

It was then Sherlock realised John knew where this was going before she did.

John’s eyes flicked to Sherlock’s lips before licking her own.

Oh.

Sherlock could not hold back the satisfied smirk that spread across her face. John shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. If turned into something else entirely when Sherlock licked and bit her lip. Contrasting with the initial clinical movements, she made a show of slowly putting her hands on the seat of the chair on either side of John’s waist and leaning forward dauntingly. She held her body over hers without touching, leaning closer and closer until her face was breath away from John’s.

She stared at John’s lips a long moment before meeting her eyes. Sherlock’s voice lower than usual, and much coarser.

“Can I taste?”

A small whimper came from John. She licked her lips and opened her mouth. It took a few tries before her voice worked.

“God, yes.”

Sherlock fought the urge to kiss John and pulled back.

Even though all she wanted to do was devour the beautiful woman in front of her, Sherlock felt like she had no idea what she was doing. She didn’t want to disappoint John and needed to calm down. She started slowly, kissing and exploring the soft skin of John’s thighs and made her way up. John’s breath became more and more laboured the higher she went. She silently tried to tell Sherlock what she wanted, what she needed, by moving her hips. When she reached her pubic hair, Sherlock pulled away, smirking at John’s disappointed whimper, to give her other thigh the same treatment. John’s legs were trembling by the time Sherlock tongued the junction of her hip.

When the flat of her tongue pressed against John’s vaginal opening and slowly stroked all the way up to her clitoris, they moaned simultaneously. Sherlock repeated the process again and again without increasing the speed or pressure, simply taking her time. Each stroke as broad and wide as she could, trying to taste everything at the same time with the entire surface of her tongue.

“Bloody hell.” John moaned, knuckles white again as she held on the arm rests.

Sherlock stroked a few more times before pausing. “Fascinating.” She whispered before plastering her tongue against John’s clitoris, her nose lost in red hair.

John cursed and watched with half lidded eyes as Sherlock rubbed and massaged her clit, particularly intrigued by all of the external physical spasms it induced. She could see John try to keep them under control, but by the time her every breath was coming out as little moans John had let go. So, Sherlock moved back to licking her vulva languorously and tried to push in her tongue. It caused John’s head to hit the back of the chair.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

“Not good?”

“Good, very good, do that again good.”

Sherlock did not need more incentive. She smirked and greedily pushed her tongue in as far as she could.

“So very, very good.” John moaned, drawing out the sounds.

Back arched, she hooked her legs over the armrests, body sinking lower and closer to Sherlock. Her hands pushed John’s thighs further apart, digging her fingers into the muscles as John ground her hips to the rhythm of Sherlock’s tongue.

“Sherlock.“

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard spoken by John; her name wrapped in a breathless moan.

“Sherlock, please, I-”

She wanted to hear her say it again and again, but she knew what John was asking and couldn’t refuse any of her requests.

John gasped when Sherlock’s lips wrapped around her clitoris and sucked _hard_.

“Fuck!”

One arm reached for the backrest while the other grabbed Sherlock’s curly hair and held on for dear life.

“Sher- Fuck, I- I’m-” John’s words were lost as her body tensed, eyes squeezed shut before a long guttural moan filled the room.

Her body pulsed and curled under strong waves of pleasure. Sherlock was having trouble breathing, her back was killing her, John’s grip on her hair was too tight, and yet she would not stop even if Mrs. Hudson came in. She had never seen John in such a state of abandon, it was breathtaking, she wouldn’t dare cut it short.

When the grip on her hair started loosening, Sherlock eased back. John’s displeased whine almost painful to hear, but the need for air was too great.

“Please don’t stop.” She begged, breathless.

She rested her head against John’s thigh, replacing her mouth by her hand to catch her breath.

“Yes.” The sound was like a purr.

Sherlock rubbed slowly, knowing how sensitive it could be after an orgasm, but John’s hips were saying otherwise. They kept moving, grinding, searching for more. Sherlock was a bit surprised, herself needing a longer refractory period. But it was a pleasant one, filling her with the urge to feel John’s body against her own. Sherlock shifted, attempting to stretch over John without slowing down her hand between her legs. John’s head was thrown back, face half covered with her still wet hair, so Sherlock kissed the uncovered skin of her neck and jaw. It wasn’t planned that she moved and John turn her face just so, it just… happened. And so did the small moan of surprise came from the both of them as their lips met for the first time.

Even in their heightened state of arousal, the moment paused and stretched between them. Sherlock’s fingers slowed between John’s legs. Their lips grazed, exploring, gently pressing and sliding as they both took the time to enjoy the moment.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” John murmured against her lips.

Sherlock answered with a deep kiss, her free hand coming up to hold John’s face. John’s tongue ventured against her lips, making them part immediately. When their tongues came in contact, it’s as if the scene jump started again, mutual desire coming back stronger than before.

Sherlock kept a slow but steady rhythm with her fingers as she moved down John’s body, kissing and tasting the delicate skin along the way. Inevitably, she indulged in John’s breasts when she reached them, having stared and wondered about their density and texture so many times before. Sherlock had made an educated guess, based on their few hugs and physical encounters (i.e. wrestling), but never had she had the chance to bask in her bosom like now.

Obviously, they were even better than she had imagined; lively, soft, perfect. They were a part of John after all. She cupped one, feeling the weight and caressing the sensitive skin gently. She watched John as she experimented with movement and pressure, thumbing the nipple occasionally. It didn’t take long until John’s hand reappeared at the back of her head, directing her mouth towards her nipple. Sherlock didn’t even try to hold back her moan as she opened her mouth wider, filling it with John’s breast as much as she could. She used her free hand to help her as her mind tried to remember the last paper she had read on human fusion. She licked and sucked and moaned, turned on by the simple fact that it was John’s breast in her mouth. She finally moved onto the other one, giving it the same thorough treatment. John’s squirmed, whimpered and begged for more the entire time, but Sherlock refused to move her fingers any faster or harder against her clit.

Satisfied for now, Sherlock moved on down her belly, relishing the soft skin against her cheeks and nose before kissing her way south. When she made it to her hips once more, John was writhing in her chair, wound tightly and looking to Sherlock for what her body desperately needed. She moaned languorously as her senses saturated with John once more. She breathed in deeply as her tongue licked greedily every inch of her, searching for the perfect rhythm and pressure to drive John insane with pleasure.

“Sher- Ah! Fuck, yes, I need-” John moaned, her head hitting the back of the chair. “I want- uhhh, I- mph-”

John was cut off by Sherlock pushing a finger in.

After a loud intake of breath, John moaned loudly, bucking into Sherlock’s hand, pushing the finger in as far as she indirectly could. “Yesss. Yes, yes, yes, oh my god, please, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, Sherlock, fuck, yes.”

She wondered how long she could hold John on the edge, the thought sending shivers through her spine. But she could already feel the strain in her arms and shoulders, she could deal with putting aside her own pleasure, but she didn’t John’s diminished because her muscles couldn’t keep up.

“Oh sh-” She started, her voice cut off as Sherlock went _harder_.

John’s orgasm seemed to hit with an overwhelming force. Her body tensed and released in a full body shudder. Sherlock had to wrap an arm around one of her legs to keep her mouth and fingers on her throughout. She slowed as it dissipated, the waves of pleasure decreasing in strength. She withdrew her fingers gently, and her mouth, after one last kiss.

John’s hands pawed at her arms and shoulders, blindly kneading and pulling Sherlock closer. Sherlock smiled as she unwound her arm from John’s thigh and crawled over her, pressing her body against John’s.

“I want to touch you,” John murmured against Sherlock’s lips, the words slurred in her post orgasmic state, punctuated by her hands clawing back. “taste you.”

Sherlock had already been struggling to keep her own desires under control as she pleased John. But those words caused Sherlock’s brain to reboot, leaving her vessel temporarily unattended. When her brain came back online, she was lying in her own chair, pyjama trousers and pants off, tank top bunched up under her armpits, one leg over the arm rest and the other over John’s shoulder. She loved the strain of the position, the feeling of her leg muscles pulling as John kissing her thoroughly. When she started grinding her thigh against her vulva, Sherlock began breathing so hard that kissing became impossible for now. So, John tested the sensitivity of her neck with her lips and tongue and teeth. Sherlock moaned and gasped in ways she wasn’t even aware she could. She would be embarrassed if she cared, which she didn’t, not when John was taking her small breasts in her mouth one after the other. But she wanted more, needed more. She loved what John was doing, but she was already so wound up, it wasn’t enough.

“John, I-”

She whined as John’s mouth disappeared off her breast and kissed its way down. Sherlock opened her eyes and caught sight of John’s devilish stare, face half hidden by pubic hair. Just that sight made her moan and drop her head back. It was a small pause before Sherlock felt a broad tongue lick from the base of her labia to her clitoris, making her lose the last of her conscious mind.

A long string of incoherent words spilled out of her as John demonstrated a side of her that only a select few had been privy too. Sherlock tried to remember how many partners she had deduced, until she realised she should be focusing on what John was doing to her _right now_ , which was… whatever her tongue was doing that was slowly driving her insane. Winding her up and making her grasp the leather of her chair tightly enough she would surely leave indentations but _that very much did not matter right now_ -

“John, oh God, Joh-”

Her lips were over Sherlock’s clitoris and her chin was creating a pressure over Sherlock’s labia. She held her in place with one arm around her thigh as the other caressed her breast. It was incredible, yet Sherlock was starting to panic. She had never been this stimulated before, it was too much, too much. But John’s tongue never waivered, never paused, kept the rhythm and pressure steady. Sherlock opened her eyes and was awestruck by the sight of John eagerly eating her out, her skin flushed and a bit sweaty from the two orgasms she had given her. It had been so long since she had come with someone else in the room, much less someone touching her, much less John, that It was too much.

“John, I- want, but can’t,”

Yet John didn’t slow.

“I- I oh, God, I-,” 

She wasn’t sure if it was hers or John’s stubbornness that made her tip over, it didn’t matter, it was too late, she couldn’t stop her orgasm from over taking her body even if she wanted too.

“Oh, God!” she shouted, a mix of fear, pleading and relief.

Sherlock could have sworn she felt her body snap as the first wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her brain stepped aside and watched as she abandoned her body to John. If she hadn’t been there holding Sherlock and coasting her through the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced, Sherlock would have ended up on the floor. Eventually Sherlock became conscious enough to find her arms wrapped around John, who was now lying on top of her. She grabbed her head with both hands and crashed her lips against hers. She could taste herself on John’s lips and it struck a cord; before she knew what she was doing, her tongue was traveling across John’s chin and lips, licking every last drop of herself off John’s face. She moved back to her lips and tried to suck her tongue clean, moaning unabashedly as she did. Sherlock was so focused on her task she didn’t notice John’s hand until a finger was sliding inside her.

Sherlock release John’s mouth in a gasp. “Ah!”

Her body tensed with pleasure and arched her back. The movement caused her breast to push up into John’s face, who instinctively opened her mouth.

Eyes wide and body tense from the overstimulation, Sherlock fought the urge to push John away. “J-John, I-”

“Too much?”

The finger inside her wasn’t moving, and the mouth on her breast was licking slowly and languorously. It felt like a lot, but it wasn’t too much.

“N-no, but-”

John cut her off with a kiss. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Sherlock wondered why that made her want to cry as John kissed her deeply.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” She whispered before kissing Sherlock one last time.

She nodded and managed to breathe through the overstimulation as John’s tongue travelled along her breasts slowly. Before long, she was squirming, moaning and asking for more. Gently, John started moving her finger inside her. Every now and then, she pushed in as far as she could, curled her finger and pressed _hard_.

“Oh! oh, do that again.” Sherlock moaned as she grabbed John’s wrist to push her in further. “Another.”

John pulled out slowly, rubbing her fingers together to spread the lubricant before pushing back in. She was rewarded by a long, satisfied moan as Sherlock wrapped her hand around John’s wrist and held her there. After a moment of contracting and relaxing her vaginal muscle around her fingers, she let go of her wrist.

“Move slow for now.”

John nodded around her left nipple. It didn’t take long for Sherlock’s hips to chase her rhythm.

“I need-” Sherlock started to say but John grinded the blade of her hand onto her clitoris. The words morphed into a guttural moan. “Oh, John.”

Sherlock could feel John’s pleased smile against her nipple. Without slowing between her legs, John kissed Sherlock’s breasts one last time and rearranged herself. She watched her fingers disappear inside her wrecked flatmate, her dark curly hair a mess around her face as she thrust her hips against John’s hand. She licked her lips one last time before she flicked her tongue over Sherlock’s clit, covered it with her mouth and sucked _hard_.

“Fuck!”

Sherlock shouted as her back arched, one hand slamming against the armrest to hold on for dear life as the other grabbed John’s hair and pushed her even harder against her. John moaned as she felt her face pressed up against her. Sherlock never wanted it to stop. She fought to keep her eyes open enough to see John, keep the memory of how she looked between her legs as she came.

“John, oh, John!”

Her orgasm hit harder than the first, longer, pulsing through every fiber her being. She was barely aware she was moaning John’s name repeatedly, the syllable stretched and distorted from the pleasure. Her name felt like air by the time Sherlock came down from her chemical high, pawing once again at John to extricate herself from between her legs and tangle her limbs around hers. They held each other for long minutes as they caught their breath, their hands caressing each other skin, enjoying the warm of their body.

“So you do like to snuggle.” John whispered somewhere close to her ear.

“Shut up.”

John’s post sex giggle was the most adorable thing Sherlock had ever heard. She added it to John’s wing in her mind palace. Which reminded her of something she’d been meaning to ask.

“John?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you shampoo your pubic hair?”

John blushed profusely and starting giggling uncontrollably.

“What?”

“It seems so silly now.”

“Then why?”

“It was for you.” She told Sherlock with a shy smile.

“Me? Why?”

“I just wanted to try it out.”

“For what?”

“In case something happened.”

Sherlock frowned, confused.

“Between us.” John clarified as she brushed away a stray hair from Sherlock’s face.

“Oh.”

Sherlock thought about it a moment but it still didn’t make sense to her.

“Why?”

“To make it soft.”

Still didn’t make sense.

“…Why?”

“Because, you’re the one who keeps going on about thread count, and cashmere, and skincare, not to mention how much you invest in hair products.”

“How does that have anything to do with you?”

John blushed harder. “I was just trying it out, ok! How could I guess it would happen the day you put madder in the fucking shampoo?”

“Well as unnecessary as it was, I’m happy you did it.” Sherlock said seriously and tightened her arms around John.

“…So, was it?”

“Hm?”

“Softer?”

“Oh. Yes. But not significantly.”

“Oh.”

Sherlock could feel John’s discomfort. “Not as much as your lips.” She added as an afterthought.

“Oh. Good.” John smiled and leaned in to kiss her.

Sherlock held her tightly in her arms, happy this was something they could do now.

“You still have to pay for my hair until the red washes out.”

“You are never letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

John let the sound pop with her lips and kissed Sherlock deeply, both happy this was something they could do now.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have an actual explanation on why John shampooed her pubic hair, it just seemed funny at the time and I went with it and the end bit was the best explanation I could come up with XD Apparently I feel compelled to explain my porn with plot.
> 
> This is my first time posting porn on AO3, the fact that it's femlock is as much as a surprise to me as it is to you. But it really helped me take a step back from my series, stretch some writing muscles I hadn't used in a while (porn, I'm talking about porn) for some upcoming scenes in my series. Since I'm writing a slow burn I'm kind of psyching myself out about it and this helped me work out some anxieties.
> 
> I appreciated the problems that came along with femlock (so exotic!), which I had naively not forseen, since I've been in a M/M mindset for SO LONG, but ridiculous since familiar with the female pipeworks. (is that cheezy?) 
> 
> By which I mean "When do they stop? They can have as many orgasms as i want, and it's still believable, so when do I stop? When is it too much?"  
> Because the answer I got from everyone I asked this too was "Never" (looking at you Glee and Aqua), but you know, I have a series to get back to, gotta end it sometime. But still, one of the best ranking writing problem I've encountered.
> 
> Anyway, I could keep rambling on, cause I really enjoyed working on this, hope yall liked it.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://shamelessmash.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you for kudos/comment! XD


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